


The Scent of You

by RedStarFiction



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Domestic Mickey Milkovich, Fluff, Gallavich, I'm hungover and needed something gentle, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Love, M/M, No angst. Couldn't face it., joy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 01:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12446784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: Happy, happy, joy, joy. All the Gallavich love today because I was at a wedding yesterday, quaffed far too much red wine and whisky, danced until 3am and this morning I thought someone had stamped my brain to pieces.So the result was that I have sludge for thoughts today and couldn't focus on my WIP and went for a one shot instead.Happy weekend, guys :) xx





	The Scent of You

He has to roll the sleeves up. That is the first thing he notices besides the sudden warmth. Mickey folds the sleeves over neatly, creating a precise line of cuff across the back of each hand. His teeth stop chattering almost instantly although his shoulders are still trembling.

The sweater has that proper lived in feel to the fabric, the scent of Ian woven through it in the way that old clothes do, their owners scent lingering long after they take the garment off. Mickey had always found that kind of gross when he and his siblings went through the piles of cast-offs at the relief centre as kids. He hated the thought of wearing someone else’s smell around, even if his own was unpleasant and back then it really had been. No money for the water bill meant no showers except at school and more often than not Mickey was on suspension and couldn’t go in, so his only option was to be dirty. He grimaces at the memory and runs a hand reassuringly through his clean-cut hair, enjoying the feel of under-shave beneath his fingers. Just like Ian’s. 

However this sweater, a little bobbled along the arms and hanging too low down his ass, smells sweetly of Ian and Mickey doesn’t mind it at all. In fact he really fuckin’ likes it and lifts the sleeve to his nose, inhaling deeply, seeing ribbons of auburn hair trailing behind his closed eyelids.

The Gallagher house is ridiculously quiet at this time of night. Mickey pokes his head out of the bedroom door and listens but can’t hear a thing except the ancient boiler gurgling away and a pipe juddering with air bubbles. The lights are on downstairs suggesting someone else is awake but Mickey isn’t wearing any pants and besides, Ian is in the room behind him, so whoever is down there is not going to be someone Mickey wants to talk to. 

He steps lightly down to the bathroom and relieves his straining bladder, tipping his head back and enjoying the feeling of his belly deflating as his piss fills the bowl. Normally he would just shake his dick a couple of times and let any stray drops get soaked up by his boxers but he doesn’t want to get any pee on Ian’s sweater. It would feel wrong. Like, morally wrong, and that is not something that Mickey thinks about many things.

There is no toilet paper, or at least none that he can see, so with a muttered curse he sidesteps to the sink and after looking furtively over his shoulder, quickly runs the tap and washes himself off and then, just because why fuckin’ not?, he washes his hands too. Proper fuckin’ domesticated.

He feels a little silly for doing it, but also a little proud because despite spending most of his life with a layer of grime covering his skin, Mickey actually enjoys being clean. He likes taking showers with soap, and styling his hair with a comb, and he likes dabbing a little of Ian’s cologne on his jaw after shaving. Not much of course, not really enough that it can actually be properly smelt on him, that would be too risky and also fuckin’ embarrassing. People would think he is some bitch marking himself with his … boyfriend’s scent or some faggy shit like that and that is most definitely not what Mickey is doing.

He checks his hair in the mirror and turns his face left and right. He thought he was getting a pimple but the stupid fucking thing seems to have fucked off which is good. Ian doesn’t get pimples. Mickey smirks proudly as he thinks this and then quickly scowls at his reflection and wipes the look from his face.

Mickey sees the door open a fraction and is drawing breath to tell whoever it is to fuck off when Ian pokes his head round the door, confusion replaced with a beautific smile.

“There you are!”

“I had to take a piss, that okay with you?”

Mickey speaks irritably, uncomfortably aware of the fluttering that smile sets off in his chest.

“You wearing my sweater?”

Ian squints at him and then his smile widens and he steps into the room properly, bare chested and Mickey realises that is isn’t just his face that flushes when he is asleep, the plains of his torso are a dusky pink, glowing with youth and health. Holy fuckin’ Christ. Mickey swallows and runs his tongue along his lower lip, utterly enthralled.

“You are wearing my sweater!”

“It was dark, I just grabbed for whatever.”

Mickey is defensive and weirdly worried that Ian is going to make him take it off.

“It looks good on you. I like the way your ass peeks out a bit.”

Ian has that annoying look on his face again, the one he gets when he is thinking some gay, romantic shit that is definitely going to make Mickey feel uncomfortable if he says it out-loud and of course, Gallagher always has to fuckin’ say everything out-loud. 

“Makes it feel like you’re properly at home here, with me. Like you’re part of the family.”

Fuck sake.

“Really? You all walk around with your asses hangin’ out?”

Mickey quips as Ian pulls him into a tight bear hug and rests his chin on top of Mickey’s head, sighing so happily that Mickey’s own lip curls upwards involuntarily.

“If anyone in this house had an ass half as good as yours, I’d wish that we did.”

“Ugh. Weird fucker!”

“Sexy fucker.”

Ian grips the object of his affections firmly and Mickey huffs a small sigh of his own in relief. This is territory he understands and can work with.

“Lets get you back to bed, Firecrotch.”

“Mmm.”

Ian hums an agreement at the back of his throat and grabs Mickey’s hand, tugging him forward.

“Will you keep my sweater on?”

Ian asks, sliding across the sheets to make room for Mickey.

“Yeah sure, if you want. You steal the quilt all the fuckin’ time anyway.”

Mickey arches an eyebrow in the darkness, curling himself back against Ian, biting his lip at large hands settle on his hips, edging the fabric up slightly to get to his bare skin, allowing himself to imagine a bobbly, saggy old sweater that might eventually smell equally of both of them. He wonders how many years that would take and as Ian’s thumb strokes over his nipple, Mickey hopes it will take a fuckin’ lifetime.


End file.
